


Bridges, And Mountains, And Fields

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Series: I Suffer(ed) From The Birdcage Syndrome [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Asexual Character, Fluff, Healing, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, MT!Prompto, Moving In Together, Noctis Lives AU, POV Second Person, PTSD, Post-Canon, Post-Pieces, Referenced PTSD, Referenced past abuse, Trauma Recovery, past prompto/ardyn, referenced rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 08:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: Prompto gets the opportunity to love and be loved, on his terms.





	Bridges, And Mountains, And Fields

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the demo lyrics to Ryan and Leigh's Birdcage Syndrome.
> 
> This lowkey behemoth-sized piece took me five months to write. Let's hope the next one isn't as ambitious... :cold_sweat:
> 
> Thanks for reading and continuing to stick around ^-^

The sun hangs high in the sky, shining down across rooftops and broken billboards and the feathers of the brilliant sky-blue chocobo in front of you.

“Thanks for dropping me at the next meter,” you say, carding your fingers through the bird’s beautiful feathers. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Talcott squints as he leans out the window of his pickup. “It’s no problem. I was going this way anyway. If you ever need a lift, feel free to shoot me a message and I’ll see where I’m at.”

“Thanks, dude.” You look up from the chocobo to him, smiling. “Have fun doing all your little sidequests.”

Talcott rolls his eyes but laughs, and retreats back in the cab of the truck to drive away.

Your hand slides down from the neck of the bird to her reins, sturdy and leather. Walking around to her side, you hook your foot in the strap and mount. The sun now beats down harder on you, warming the back of your neck. You’re sure you’ll have a sunburn later.

With a small _hyah_ , you’re off, the chocobo setting off down the edge of the highway at a brisk pace. Some part of you panics at not having checked the map before mounting, but, calmly, you assure yourself it’s not a big deal. You’ve been around this continent many times, in conditions far worse than this that you’re pretty certain you can make it to your destination without getting lost. Grasping the reins tighter, you urge your chocobo to speed up, eventually leaping over the metal rail beside you and onto the cracking asphalt of the highway. Her talons smack the ground with every step, her harness jostling and jingling as she runs. The wind’s picked up now, and you inhale the clear, Scourge-free air all around you, the refreshing coolness of it filling your lungs and settling you firmly in this moment.

It’s nice having the sun back.                                                                           

Lestallum’s crowded when you get there, people of all kinds spilling out of the streets and alleyways into the city center and outlook beyond. There’s scaffolding everywhere, almost enough to match the scattered pieces of broken cars, stacks of metal, and unused tech piled in every corner of the city. The wind dies down as your chocobo slows, approaching the gas station on the western side of town.

From the door of the station’s convenience store, Aranea notices the tell-tale blue of your bird and approaches with mirth and pride in her eyes.

“Funny story, shortcake. You missed Cindy by about a day,” she says as you dismount.

“Really? What was she doing all the way out here?”

Aranea outright smiles, baring teeth. “You know, dropping off supplies and relocated Hunters. Not to mention comin’ to see yours truly.”

You grin. “Son of a bitch. Did she bring you anything special?”

She backs up a few steps and walks towards the store, motioning for you to follow. “Just beer and sweets. Takka’s been passing chocolates out left and right.”

Giving your bird one last pat, you fall into step just behind her. “Wow, still?”

“Hey, you don’t look a gift chocobo in the mouth.”

“Heh. True.”

The two of you duck into the small, boxy store. The shelves where merchandise once stood are instead filled with tools, nuts, bolts, and other eclectic bits and pieces that would get lost if left with the other supplies cast about the city. There’s an electric fan sitting on the counter in the back, with a man scribbling furiously on three separate sheets of paper just behind. On the other side of the counter from him is a girl, short but stocky, and muscular, much like her brother. She turns, hefting the plastic bucket over her shoulder a little higher until her eyes lock with yours.

“Hey, Prom!”

Iris’s face, circular, suntanned, scarred, lights up. She walks right over to you, the weight of the bucket not bothering her in the slightest.

“Oh my Gods, it’s so nice to see you! How are you?”

Your smile turns fond. “I’m doing pretty good. You?”

“Pretty _fantastic_ , actually. Having a sun sure helps.” Her attention shifts to Aranea, for a moment. “Hey, Aunt Ara,” she says, her smile growing more animated every second she waits for a response.

“Fucking hell. You ran into Cindy, didn’t you?”

She giggles, completely unable to help herself. “Yup.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her for the niece later.”

She gestures back towards you, taking care not to touch. “What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug. “Ah, you know. Around. Taking odd jobs, helping out—I’m not so good with the whole building thing, but I can do little stuff around town.”

“Oh? How long have you been living here?”

“It’s not really like that. I’ve just been hanging out between here and Old Lestallum.”

“Ohhh. I see.” She brings her bucket-laden arm down off her shoulder, instead hanging it in front of her. From here, you can see her haul of small, neatly stacked wooden planks and carefully wrapped bags of screws. “How _is_ Noct doing, anyway?”

A chill runs through you. It’s been three weeks since the Dawn, but every time someone mentions Noctis’s name, you can’t help but think in sheer dumb awe, _he’s back._

“He’s recovering great. Iggy’s feeling pretty confident he’ll be able to get out and about soon!”

“That’s amazing news!” Every ounce of excitement she has beams out of her face. It’s a miracle that ten years of darkness didn’t manage to steal her spirit. “I’m so glad.” She looks around you and Aranea before giving a glance back to the register. “Welp, I gotta get going and drop this stuff off. Hey, Prompto, do you have anything going on right now?”

“No, not at the moment—I came here to get a job, actually…”

Iris tilts her head to the side in cheer, and lifts her bucket back over her shoulder. “C’mon. Plenty to do where I’m headed.”

Waving goodbye to Aranea, you run to catch up with Iris and follow her across the highway into Lestallum proper.

“Y’know, you should really consider getting a place out here if you’re gonna be running around doing jobs and repairing stuff for the builders,” she says.

You scratch the back of your neck, and your hand comes away with sweat.

“I know, I know, you’re not the first person to tell me. It’s just…Hammerhead’s the closest thing I’ve got to a home right now. Cindy’s there, Iggy’s stuff is still there, I’ve got a business…”

“So, move it.” She turns around to face you, walking backwards for a moment.

“It’s…we’ll see. I’d think about a place in Old Lestallum, first.”

“Heh. Course you would.”

Before you can ask what that’s supposed to mean, you come into an area with a large fountain. The Leville sits in the corner to the left, paint dulled and chipped with time, but structurally sound, all things considered. There are other little pockets of people standing about, and a plastic table from someone’s restaurant set up near the rushing water. Iris plops the bucket down on top, completing the spread of wood, metal piping, and other resources.

From then on, you just tag along with whatever group needs you the most. You end up working on five separate rebuilding projects that day, doing things from fixing drills, to sorting out fried fuse boxes, to transporting solar panels all around West Lestallum.

It’s good work. Certainly, it’s more cheerful than cleaning Scourge out of mangled pieces of broadsword, or frantically fixing someone’s power before daemons flood the establishment. Even the mind clearing, second nature chaos of fighting is nothing compared to fresh air, sincere smiles, and contributing to the labor of love it takes to rebuild a city.

You can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like when this sort of concentration is applied to Insomnia. That will be a sight to see.

By the time the sun starts to slip behind the mountains, you’re sitting at a food stall in Lestallum’s central square finishing a bowl of soup handed to you by the proprietor for volunteering. Iris recommended the place, and you’re glad you took her up on the offer. More than the food, savory and warm, you can see the sunset from here, and take pleasure in the idea that you don’t have to race indoors or deck yourself out for battle when night falls.

You leave the city with the last dregs of orange in the sky, adjusting both the chocobo’s flashlight and your own so they clearly illuminate the road ahead. It’s a long ride to Old Lestallum, but clear roads make the trip shorter than it was during the Night. In the end, you make good time getting there.

The large motel in the back of the outpost has seen better days. There’s so little paint left on it you can’t tell what color it was even supposed to be in the first place, the electric signs blink in and out, and you think you even heard a rumor that more than half the rooms have been ruled off limits for some safety reason or another. Of course, when the manager heard that the King needed a place to recuperate nearby the largest remaining city, he was happy to make what was left as presentable as possible.

You wave to the woman working the front desk as you slip in through the door and up the stairs. It only takes one flight to get there of the three in the building, and past most of the other rooms on the way to the only one manned by Glaives.

“Am I too late?” you ask.

“Not at all. Scientia is in there now,” the Glaive to the right answers.

“Oh yeah? Are they busy?”

“No.”

“Great,” you say, reaching for the doorknob.

The room Noctis is staying in is large, and always cleaner than you expect. When you walk in, the room’s central light is on, but not the desk lamp’s despite Ignis scribbling something on a paper over there. Noctis looks up from his phone to you, poised mid-sentence.

“Hey,” he says, calmly paving over whatever he was saying before. “Thought maybe you weren’t coming tonight.”

The cream colored armchair that you pulled beside the bed weeks ago still hasn’t been moved, thank the gods, and you fall into it with no decorum whatsoever.

“Nah, I just got holed up for a while in Lestallum. Iris can be a real arm twister.”

He looks back down to his screen, trying not to smile. “More than you know.”

“I was happy to help anyway.”

Ignis puts his pen down, pushes his chair into the hollow of the desk, and adjusts the clips on his briefcase. He walks towards you, stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Good to see you,” he says, nodding towards the sound of your voice. “Noct, I assume you’d like some privacy?”

“You already look like you’re leaving, so, yes?”

The briefest of smiles flits across Ignis’s face. “I’ll see you in the morning, your Majesty. Rest well. Try to look over those notes I gave you after Prompto leaves?”

“Yeah, course. ’Night.”

“Good night.”

“Sleep well, Iggy,” you contribute to the goodbyes.

Ignis heaves a sigh. “Yes. I shall try.”

You hear the door opening and shutting, and the beginnings of a murmured conversation just outside.

Noctis settles back against his pillows and drags a hand down his face.

“Crazy how after ten years _and_ getting impaled, I still have homework.”

You scoff. “He loves you, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He frowns, tugging at the ends of his shaggy hair. “Were things okay today?”

“Yeah, things were good. You don’t have to worry about me.” You try a disarming smile.

“Not gonna lie, that’s a bit of a tall order.”

Heat rushes up to your cheeks, and your head swims a bit. You should be used to it by now, but you still feel pleasantly surprised whenever Noctis shows care for you.

“H-honestly, you should probably be worrying more about Iggy. I think his head is going to explode if he gets any more stressed about the future of the Kingdom. What’d he have you doing today?”

“Planning,” Noctis replies. “Mostly for that speech I’m gonna give as soon as I’m cleared to walk again. I remember my dad had a whole _team_ of speechwriters, not just his advisor and himself. Wish I had people for that.”

“Does Gladio know how to write?”

He half-shrugs. “Eh. A little. We’re kinda bringing him in as a consultant on some of the language. Specs likes to have him proofread his writing anyway.” He turns the screen of his phone off and rests it in his lap.

You nod toward the desk in the back of the room. “Are those notes Iggy was talking about related to the speech?”

Noctis blinks, like you shook him out of a dream. He looks up. “Huh? No, they’re about these, um, the start of population data and census…stuff.” He tries to bend over, reaching toward the knob of the drawer set into his bedside table, but you beat him to it. You’ve been keeping your phone charger in there anyway, and pull it out with the stack of papers Noctis wanted.

“Specs says they’re nowhere near having information on everyone left,” he continues, “but it’s progress. Gonna take a look?”

You start flipping through it, spotting tables upon tables of information in the same immaculate penmanship. He hasn’t been doing this on a computer? Astrals, no wonder it’s taking so long.

“He wants me to find a place in Lestallum, you know that?”

“Well,” you say distractedly, “it’s pretty much the closest thing we have to a capital right now.”

“But it’s just—“

You look up to find Noctis’s drifted off again, this time with his brow creased in distress. For an instant, it almost looks like he’s going to say something important.

“It’s really fucking hot in Lestallum,” he mutters.

You snort and laugh, returning to your reading. “True. ‘Specially with all the people there, Shiva’s tits.”

It takes you a moment to realize that Noctis isn’t laughing with you.

Your eyes dart up, trying to gauge his mood, only to find he’s been staring at you.

“What’s up?”

“Huh? Nothing.”

“You were staring. At my head.”

“By all accounts, it’s a very attractive head.”

You smack him on the arm with the papers. “Dork.”

He flinches, but this actually does coax a little laugh out of him. It’s rough, deeper than you remember—for some reason the slightly lower register of his voice catches you off guard every damn time you hear it—but there’s something about it that physically _lightens_ you, no matter the circumstances. It’s something precious, something that you’ve never had in this large a supply before. Every bit you receive makes you want to bottle it up, keep it safe, keep it tucked away for the bad nights when you struggle to get to sleep after being used, and _used_ , and—

—those nights are over. They have been for ten years.

Sometimes you still need to remind yourself of that.

You swallow. Flipping the edges of the papers in such a way that they cascade into a neat stack, you hand them to Noctis.

“So, uh, did you want to look through those, or…?”

“Nah.” He tosses them on the blanket beside him. “I’ll skive off and do ‘em after you leave.”

“’Kay, so…King’s Knight?”

Even more precious than the chuckle, Noctis smiles. You can’t _ever_ complain when he does that.

“You know, I don’t think I'm gonna be able to catch up to your level.”

You grin back, fingers automatically opening the app on your phone. “I could always start over.”

“And get rid of the symbol of all that free time you had between daemon hunting the last ten years? Not a chance.”

“Hey, unholy creatures of the night don’t exactly hand out time schedules, Noct.”

“Whatever.” He opens his phone too, helping set up the game you’ll play tonight. “Let’s just not do PvP again. That was a terrible idea.”

“Says the guy who came up with it!”

“If I’m not pointing any fingers, you shouldn’t either.”

“Noooooct!”

 

******

 

A week later, the Lestallum High School auditorium seems to transcend the word ‘packed’. You have _never_ been in a place with this many people before, in all your thirty years of existence on Eos. The mind-boggling part of it is, this isn’t even everyone who will be watching Noctis’s speech.

Everywhere on Eos that still has an Internet connection will be able to receive this event via live broadcast—something Ignis and yourself were able to figure out how to work. There’s no telling how many other people will be tuning in to see the King of Light’s first public appearance since the Dawn. You glance over at the tangled wires leading from the stage’s podium and behind the curtains in the back, and suddenly wonder if anyone from Niflheim will be able to see the speech. Is there even anyone left over there?

Did they all die in the freezing cold and the dark?

You try not to think about that for now, instead hopping up the few wooden steps that lead to the stage and through their curtains.

Backstage is…well, it’s certainly no more of a madhouse than Cindy’s garage ever was. Not many flesh-and-blood people are there, but the amount of cords and wires and brightly lit, salvaged computer monitors that populate the place is a little ridiculous. A few aides rush around. Strangely, Ignis is nowhere to be seen.

Noctis is sitting on a metal folding chair, looking small and out of place amidst all the technology.

“Hey there buddy,” you say as you fall into the matching chair across from him. “How’re you feeling?”

He takes a second to think about this.

“Prepared,” he puts a finger thoughtfully to his chin, almost like he’s trying to mimic Ignis. “But mostly like I would rather die again than do this.”

“Maybe not a great idea.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs. “Never liked public…stuff. Like this.”

The thought occurs that you’ve never seen him do this sort of thing before. Nothing political. You met Regis, once, a long time ago now, but even that had been a ‘stare blankly ahead and wait for Ardyn to finish his monologue’ type of event and not an actual interaction. You don’t even think that the King had been able to get a word in edgewise during that meeting.

You’re not sure what to expect from this whole thing, now.

“Hey,” you say again, leaning just a little closer. “I know you can do this, dude. Breathe easy, okay? Do you remember the trick I taught you on the train?”

Noctis nods, running through your breathing mnemonic. By the end he’s sitting up a bit more, and his face isn’t quite so pale. He still looks so _small_ , though. You hate it.

“Ah, there you are,” comes Ignis from behind you. “Suppose I should’ve known you’d be back here.”

Noctis looks towards him, immediately standing. You follow suit.

“We starting soon?” Noctis asks, gritting his teeth slightly.

Ignis holds up a hand. “Five minutes. And since I have miraculously managed to get these five minutes to myself, I’d actually like to spend them talking to Prompto.”

You blink. “Uh…what’s up?”

“Would you come over here, with me?”

Turning half back to Noctis, you give what you hope is your most reassuring smile. “You can get through this, okay? Just think about the cake Iggy made for after.”

“Prompto,” Ignis starts in a measured tone, but not one that suggests real annoyance, “that was a _secret_.”

Noctis’s eyes brighten a little bit, and the corner of his mouth quirks up just enough to loosen the knot of anxiety in your chest. “A pretty poorly-kept one.”

You follow Ignis out of the backstage, down the side steps and through to a tucked away corner in the back of the auditorium, near an emergency exit.

“We’re alone, correct?”

“Yeah.”

Ignis exhales in a huff. “I assume Noct has already told you that I would like him to move to an apartment in Lestallum?”

“Yup,” you lean back against the wall behind you, folding your arms. “I don’t think he likes the idea very much.”

“Right. I’m well aware. Here’s the trick.”

He steeples his fingers together, pointing them towards you.

“Where are _you_ living right now?”

You try to sound sure of yourself, but end up floundering. “Well, I mean…lots of places. My stuff’s still at our old bedroom in Hammerhead, and I pretty much share a drawer with Noct in his hotel room at this point, but I actually _sleep_ in Old Lestallum, like both of you.”

Realization trickles into your brain, and you unfold your arms.

“You’re not seriously thinking of putting us in an apartment _together_ , are you?”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

Something in your middle—your heart, your stomach, you can’t tell—flutters in a noxious combination of anxiety and excitement.

“It makes sense, Prompto,” Ignis continues. “Lestallum’s overcrowded as it is, making it difficult to find proper housing. Noct is guaranteed a place, being the King, and Gladio as the Shield, and myself as the royal advisor, but I don’t want you to be left in the dust. You work there, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, on and off, but—“

“And your things are spread across the entire damned continent. Two, if you count Niflheim.”

“It’s not like I mind that, at least I _have_ stuff nowadays—“

“Prompto.” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “You are one of my closest friends, and I am trying to offer you housing. It doesn’t have to be with Noctis—I can pull some strings, I’m sure—but I thought perhaps you might want to…”

His mouth stops, lips pressing into a line.

“Do you remember that conversation we had in Cindy’s kitchen, over tea, about five years ago?”

_I deserve good things._

You groan.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That’s all he says on the matter.

The crowd behind Ignis erupts into applause. A man starts speaking—the mayor of Lestallum, you remember—giving an overview of the morning’s events, and announcing Noctis’s speech.

“One more thing,” Iggy says, holding up a finger. “This isn’t just about you. Noct is…fragile, presently. Having a friend beside him may help.”

You cock your head to the side. “Fragile like…how?”

The audience makes themselves known again, cheering and clapping so loudly that it rings in your eardrums. Noctis is coming on.

“He’ll tell you, I’m sure,” Ignis says, backing away. “He trusts you, Prompto.”

Then he’s gone, rushing back the way he came and into the backstage.

 

******

 

Celebrations happen at The Leville, in the master suite.

Less people show than you expected, but that doesn’t mean attendance is lacking—milling about the suite are most of the crew and aides who ran around working at the speech, the Mayor of Lestallum and his advisors, and folks that you recognize from the city’s Glaive HQ. Ignis is somehow still standing, a feat you can only assume is due to divine intervention. He’s the one who’s been making sure this entire day has run smoothly, after all.  

Noctis is sitting in one of the room’s high-backed armchairs, his braced leg crossed over his good, accepting kind words, compliments, and well wishes from those who walk near him. He looks exhausted, even if he’s hiding it the best he can.

You empathize.

Not many of the important people around seem to take any interest in you, and while you prefer it that way, it does make the party dull. You try to catch Ignis’s attention several times to further pursue the conversation you had earlier, but every time you find him, he’s busy answering questions about policy and the health of his King. Gladio is engaged similarly; though he’s acting as the head of security tonight, that doesn’t seem to be deterring him from turning up the charm and impressing the hell out of Lestallum’s leadership.

You _itch_ to talk to someone, if only to pass the time, and that’s when Iris pops up and approaches you.

“Hey there, stranger,” she says, winking. “Are you liking the party?”

You almost laugh. “It’s a miracle Iggy pulled it off, that’s for sure.”

“I think you mean Iggy and at least one other person!” She beams.

“Did you help?”

“Derp. Of course I did!” Iris laughs, full-bodied. You notice her arms clasped behind her back; there’d be nothing wrong with that normally, but right now, it looks…awkward. Unnatural.

“Uh, you okay there?” you ask.

Iris leans in a bit, voice dropping in volume. “I’ve got something for you. Well, for both of you. I stole it from Specs’s stuff when he wasn’t looking.”

“Huh?”

“Can I grab your arm for a sec? It’ll make this whole thing a lot easier.”

Did you miss some vital part of the conversation?

“I…guess, if you have to, but I’d really like to know—“

“Great! Thanks.”

Iris reaches out to grab your left arm and pulls you so close to her side that your arms brush. From this viewpoint, you glance down her backside to find she’s holding a green bottle, about double in size from the beer Cindy likes.

“Hey! Gladdy!”

Gladio’s just barely finished talking with someone before he looks up and sees the two of you. Smiling wider than before, he starts in your direction. Watching him, you realize that Iris has positioned the both of you at the opposite end of the densest traffic in the room.

As he politely makes his way through the various officials and partygoers, Iris tilts her head in your direction, and almost too fast for you to understand, says, “He’ll be waiting for you on the roof. Take this and meet him there.”

She nudges the bottle from behind her back into your hand. It takes you a few tries—Gladio is getting closer, and the idea of him seeing this illicit transaction makes you nervous—but you manage to grasp the bottom of it, slippery with condensation.

Just as Gladio approaches, she whispers, “Go,” before launching into a greeting for her brother.

Right before turning and making for the door to the hotel room, you notice Noctis missing from his chair.

 

 

Coming out into the roof’s open air is uncomfortable, the breeze being warm tonight, but at least it’s not cold. Another blessing from having the sun back—no more freezing your ass off every time you step outside.

Noctis sits with his back against a cluster of metal piping, one leg dangling off the edge of the hotel. In his kingly ensemble he almost blends into the darkness, with the exception of the golden bracer on his left leg. Its metal shimmers in the moonlight.

You take a breath in and walk over, calling his attention toward you. He looks up, head coming slowly off the shoulder it was lying on.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey.”

“Iris told me I might have a guest.” He smiles, a little. Even in the dark, he notices the bottle in your hands. “What’s that?”

You lift it up, laughing sheepishly. “Uh, champagne, I think? She smuggled it over to me. Figure we should drink it?”

“I think she’d want nothing more.”

You sit down in front of him. The roof is gravelly, due to the years of dust and decay being blown up here. When you set the champagne bottle down between the two of you, it refuses to stay level. Noctis ends up taking it into his lap, picking at the bottle’s muselet as best he can with no light.

“How did you get up here without being totally called out?” you ask. His brow furrows, still picking at the metal.

“Iris and I worked out a system, back when we were kids. She’d help me get out of meetings and events I didn’t wanna be in, and we’d go hang out somewhere. It was nice. Gladio’s probably already noticed I’m gone, but I doubt he’s gonna come bother me about it. Iris’s got a way with words, and it’s not like I came up here without a guard.”

“Uh, did these ‘hang outs’ always involve expensive alcohol?”

“Nah.” Noctis finishes twisting the wire cage open, pulling it off the top. “This is a new development.”

It’s your turn to smile, now. Noctis sets the bottle back down on the roof for a moment, instead reaching behind him to unclasp his cape from his top. He brings the fabric to the top of the bottle, points it off the edge of the hotel, and pulls the cork free as gently as he can. It drops into the street below, along with a waterfall of foam.

The cape’s all wet and sticky and ruined now, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He lays it down on the roof with one hand, and grasps the middle of the champagne with the other.

“Bottoms up?” you suggest.

He grimaces a little, like the bottle is some daemon he’s just spotted out of the corner of his eye. “Bottoms up,” he echoes, lifts the thing to his lips, and takes a swig. When finished, he holds it out to you. You take it.

The champagne is bright, bubbly, and sweeter than any other alcohol you’ve tried. You feel lightened as it goes down, and by the time the sip’s over you know you’ll definitely be having more. But despite that craving, and Iris’s playful hijinks, you should probably take some of this time to talk to Noctis seriously.

You set the champagne bottle down on the damp cape. “Hey, so. Bud.”

“Yeah?”

Noct’s hand comes to rest on the neck of the bottle. Gods, how you want to reach out and take it— _when did you become so willing to initiate these little touches?_ —but keep your hand firm around the middle, instead.

“So, uh, Iggy came to me today. At the speech.”

“Ah, yeah. I remember that. What’s up?”

“Well…y’know how he wants you to live here?”

Noctis’s expression becomes shuttered, just slightly. He puts some real strength into it, and pulls the champagne out of your grasp.

“Ugh. What about it?” He takes a sip.

Damn it. You entered this conversation, came this way, and are still having trouble finding the courage to talk about it. In the end, you have to look away from him entirely.

“He’s thinking…maybe I should move in with you?”

There’s a slight _pop_ as Noctis brings the bottle down from his lips, then silence, for a few seconds. You dare to look up, and find his mouth is open, just slightly. As if shocked.

“I…Prom, that’s unacceptable. I’m so sorry. That was out of line, and I’ll talk to him about it, I promise. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want—“

You speak without even thinking about it.

“But what if I _do_ want to?”

That shuts the both of you up. Noctis purses his lips together and looks to the side; the champagne bottle lowers to the roof, slowly.

“I just—“ you start again, trying to backtrack. “Look. He’s kinda right, okay? I don’t really have a place, right now. I’m still kinda living at Hammerhead, but that’s pretty impractical with all the rebuilding efforts starting here.”

Noctis continues resting his hand on the bottle. He’s resolved to peek up at you through his bangs, still shaggy from ten years inside the Crystal and easily coming unkempt from the rigorous styling Ignis was trying to inflict on it for the broadcast.

You remember his return, the way he looked standing by Talcott’s truck—clearly drained, but unmistakably ethereal. He was the last thing you had expected to see that day, and your heart swelled, and there was this huge, unabashed feeling of…love. That’s why you let him touch you, _embrace_ you, even when you _still_ try to avoid casual affection from others.

You really, really love him.

And now, here he is, looking as if he’s trying to hide inside his kingly raiment. His eyes are shifty, and he looks younger than you’ve ever seen him before.

_Noct is…fragile, presently._

“Noctis,” you whisper, forgetting your previous point. “Are you okay?”

His eyes find yours. He opens his mouth to speak, and straightens his back against the pipes.

“I just don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. I…” he closes his eyes. “I want you to feel safe.”

You give into the urge. Your hand finds his, like it has so many times since he came back, like their being drawn together is a natural law of the universe.

“I feel safe when I’m with you.”

He tries to swallow, but you can tell from where you’re sitting that there’s no moisture in his mouth. He blinks. After a moment of deliberation, he threads his fingers through yours, bringing your hands off the bottle. He laughs quietly.

“Wh- what?” Your face gets hot with embarrassment. “Ugh, look, I’m sorry man, that was probably a little too much—“

“Prom.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s good. Just…are you sure that’s not the champagne talking?”

“No. Not at all. It’s real, I promise.”

“Real,” Noctis repeats, looking down at his brace.

“Yeah. But I mean, if _you_ don’t want it, if you don’t want… _me_ …that’s fine too. Iggy said he might be able to find another way.”

“No, no, Prompto.” Noctis shuffles closer, across the gravelly roof. “I…”

He bites his lip, clearly losing himself in thought. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, your breaths getting shallower with every passing moment. There’s something else, too, words echoing in your head from over a decade ago, as if pre-emptively trying to lower your expectations.

_MTs don’t deserve love._

You can still hear it as if Ardyn himself is crouching at your shoulder, whispering in your ear. But even those words are drowned out, swept completely out of your head because Noctis Lucis Caelum, King Of Lucis, _Dawnbringer_ , mumbles, “There’s nothing I want more, honestly.”

There’s roaring in your ears, heat flushing up through your body. Your vision swims, and you squeeze his fingers between yours until your knuckles turn white.

“So,” you grapple, struggling in vain to find words that fit the sentence you want to build. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, and now that you look, seems just as flustered as you.

You want to say something romantic. He beats you to the punch in saying anything at all, though, when he says, “So. Like. How’s this gonna work?”

You use your free hand to pick up the bottle of champagne and take a drink. “How’s what gonna work?”

“Like…boundaries. And consent.”

Oh. _Oh_.

“You mean, like…you…you want to…?”

“Not if you don’t,” he hurries to clarify. “I’ve never been super into it, anyway. Sexual stuff. It’s always been hard for me to understand why people like it so much.”

You laugh a little, cutting through the nervousness. Your cheeks heat up again, though you can’t tell why.

“Well, like, consent is easy, Noct.”

“Well, duh.” He rolls his eyes.

”But I think I get what you’re saying, though? Besides, you’re actually really good at asking. Always have been.” Looking down at the bottle in your hand and the surface of the roof, you sigh. “Maybe we should have an actual conversation about this when we’re more, y’know…sober?”

Noctis snatches the bottle from you, just about to take a swig of his own, and says, “I’ll drink to that.”

You laugh. It’s easy, and it’s playful, and you still feel hot but that doesn’t even matter because Lestallum’s air is refreshing against your flushed skin.

Noctis keeps on holding your hand. You keep on letting him.

 

******

 

You end up sleeping at Iris's place, that night. Gladio, being the designated driver, is the one who takes you over there, with your consent. Iris gladly lets you crash on her couch—you'll be working with her in the morning anyway—while Gladio presses on to Old Lestallum to sleep and get everyone's affairs in order. 

You wake up, and within minutes find yourself staring down a blinking cursor; a blank slate for your text message to Ignis.

After a while you moan in frustration, and get up to find coffee made in a pot on Iris's counter. There’s a sticky note pressed to the handle stating:  _I took an early shift today, but you'll still be able to find me in front of the hotel at about noon. Thanks!_

Drawn after the text is a series of tiny hearts, and a doodle of a moogle’s head. 

Even with your grogginess and immense headache, you smile anyway. It's a cute note. Reaching for the still warm coffee pot, you find a nearby mug, and pour yourself a cup.

At the time prescribed on the note, you're packed for the day and off to find her. The previously empty text to Ignis now simply reads:

_hey_

_i think i deserve it :)_

******

 

Hammerhead’s changes have been subtle.

On the whole, it looks the same—same dusty parking lot, same gas station, same diner, same garage. From afar, it’s a perfect picture of what it’s always been; a way station, a place to repair and regroup. It’s only when you get closer that you can see what’s different.

Takka’s has been cleared out at this point. Any of the old supplies, weapons, and rations that were stored there during the Night have been moved to Duscae, and it’s back to being a normal diner. The gas pump is in better shape than you’ve ever seen it, and there are more cars than bits of tech or weaponry in Cindy’s garage.

Walking inside, past her current repair project, you find that your workbench has been left almost entirely untouched. The headlights you were working on when Noctis came back are still there; one bulb wrenched half open with its guts hanging out, your tools exactly where you discarded them, everything coated with a barely-perceptible layer of dust.

The stairs to the apartment are right nearby. You climb them, knowing that excluding the one night you were able to crash here before the Dawn, you haven’t been here in…months. Almost a year, you’d guess, but aren’t certain. Time only regained its meaning once the sun came back.

The wood creaks as you climb. Once you clear the ground floor, the little bedroom hallway coming into view, you can see that the door to the bathroom is open, the lights on and reflecting garishly off the wood paneling nearby. There’s the scraping of footfall that isn’t yours, and then—

“Who the—“

Cindy pops out of the open doorway, in the process of sliding several uncooperating barrettes into her wild, curly hair.

She lights up.

“Prom!”

 

 

“Yer sure this is a good idea, hun?”

She’s speaking quietly, delicately. You don’t blame her, even if it is the third time she’s asked the question this afternoon.

“I’m sure,” you reply, getting on all fours and patting around under your old bed. “Like I said, all three of us’ve talked about it since the party. We’re making solid plans, and Iggy and Noct are looking at apartments. I’m just grabbing my stuff. We’re sure.”

Crawling back out, you’ve found nothing but a fistful of dust. You get up a little higher, kneeling and folding your arms on the top of the bed. Cindy sits right near you, cross-legged on the old quilt.

She sighs. “Well, I sure am proud of ya’ll for making this step. I ain’t gonna lie about that. Jus’ be sure to take care of yourself, mkay?”

The wardrobe leaning against the wall near the foot of your bed is your next destination. There’s a half packed cardboard box on the floor, and you drag it with you over to that corner of the room.

“Like, you and Aranea seem to have it worked out, you know? You’ve got fixing the whole _‘ahh, I’m having a panic attack because you touched me wrong’_ thing down to a science.” You open the left side door of the cabinet, and turn slightly to look at her. “So it’s not like it’s impossible.”

She shrugs. “Took time and communication.”

“So, yeah,” you look back to the wardrobe, “possible.”

“It sure did help that Ara’d had more experience. Ifrit’s Hellfire if I could tell what was normal and what wasn’t that first year’r so.”

Words fall out of your mouth before you can think them through. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d call being with Ardyn _‘experience.’_ ”

Cindy straightens, looking completely appalled. _“Prom!”_

“Yeah, that was too far,” you mutter, grabbing an armful of clothes on hangers. “I’m sorry.”

“S’fine, just…” she stands up off the bed, walking as far as the opposite end of your box, now clumsily laden with old, patchy hunter garb. “That don’t count. Mkay? There ain’t no universe where that counts. I know you know that.”

You close your eyes, and try not to let what you said unleash a wave of intrusive thoughts. “Look, the point is, I think we can do this. He knows a lot about the situation already—I’ve talked to him tons about the nightmares, and the…the fear, and how it feels to be _back there_ , even when I’m standing in the middle of a safe place. He knows, he’s even had these feelings before, back when he was a kid. And he’s…”

The proper words fail you. All you can do is just turn back and meet her eyes straight on.

“He’s _good_ , Cin. He’s good.”

She shakes her head. “I ain’t doubtin’ ya. I think y’all are lucky to have each other. Yer like—the sun and the moon, complimentin’ each other perfectly.”

Cindy rises to the occasion, continuing to hold your eye contact with no fear whatsoever.

“We’re jus’… we’re here if y’need us. Me and Ara. Okay? An’ that goes for His Majesty, too.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

 

 

When you leave that day, Talcott’s truck loaded with your things and idling, you try to give your garage key to Cindy.

She only shakes her head, and says so quietly you think she’s holding back tears, “Hammerhead’ll always be yer home.”

For the first time in your entire history of knowing her, you pull her into a tight hug. It’s awkward, considering you’ve only done this consensually once before, and she’s surprised by the admission, but it doesn’t take long for the unease to melt away and leave only affection.

She waves goodbye to you long until Hammerhead’s faded into the gold of the desert.

 

******

 

You visit the new apartment for the first time three days after the Hammerhead trip, in the middle of a Saturday morning. Noct’s the one who picked it out, based on a combination of input from you and Ignis. He sent you pictures after it was chosen, so you’re not walking in completely blind—but even then, they don’t compare to seeing it in person.

The front door opens up to both a living room and a galley kitchen. On the far right wall is a sizeable window, with the blinds open just enough that the ten o’clock light spills through the spaces between the slats and onto a small couch pressed just underneath. Past the living room is a hallway that leads into two bedrooms; one has already been staked out as an office for Noct, with a modest wooden desk and boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. There’s no doubt they’re filled with paperwork and other vital documents—the beginnings of a county.

The bedroom next door is just that—a room with a bed. Seeing it there, you realize that you can’t put the reality of this idea out of your mind anymore. Confronted by the queen-sized mattress, the simple wooden frame, the nightstand on the right and how close the whole setup feels to the bare walls of the room, it’s…suffocating.

You want this. You know you do.

Over and over, again and again, you’ve chosen to be with Noctis. You’ve chosen him even when it resulted in the suffering you still relive in dreams. Even with that fallout, you know don’t regret it, and you don’t think you’ll regret the choice you’ve made to _physically_ _sleep_ with him, either.

The two of you have discussed it, floated some ideas around. You are _certain_ that you want this.

You’ll just have to be careful.

The door on the left wall of the bedroom leads into a bathroom, old and tiny. It’ll need a good clean, but it has its charm.

Standing there, looking at the dingy window and the yellowing tiles with grout and crap sandwiched between them, it feels like _proof_. Proof that you’re really here, proof that this is really _is_ Lucis and not some place in Niflheim you’re allowing yourself to fantasize about. People have lived in this apartment before, _real people_ , just like you, and now it’s yours.

Yours and Noctis’s.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch something in the mirror above the sink. It’s a smile on your face, the corners of your mouth quirking up high enough that your teeth show.

Your own _home._ The beginnings of one, anyway.

Somewhere safe. Somewhere comforting. Somewhere unmistakably human.

You brought cleaning supplies with your boxes from Hammerhead—Cindy wouldn’t let you leave without some—and unpack them in your bathroom, but don’t end up using them just yet. After all, you only have a limited time to savor this feeling of utter _possibility_ before it’s off into the city to find Iris.

Your day goes smoothly. The heat of the sun is grounding as you work, and throughout each of your odd jobs and what downtime you have, you find yourself looking towards Northern Lestallum, towards the apartment, towards your future.

The food stall with the soup you like turns out to be right on the way home. The line’s a bit longer than usual, but knowing Noctis, he’ll probably be late meeting you at the apartment anyway. You end up carrying two takeout containers of the hearty soup with you as you wind your way down narrow streets and alleys choked with people.

 _It’s not just me_ , you think in passing. _They’re all free from him now, too._

You fumble with the key in the lock until the door finally opens up, revealing soft light to contrast with the dusk outside, and Noctis peering out at you from within.

“Oh,” you call, stepping in. “Hey. Didn’t expect you to be here so soon.”

Noctis shrugs where he’s standing. “Specs let me off early tonight.”

“Oho, maybe don’t expect that to become a habit.”

“I don’t.” He walks closer, and you hold the bag with dinner out for him to grab. “Is this food?”

“Yeah!” You take your boots off, and walk further into the room. “Thought I might as well grab two. Have you already…?”

“Nah, this is perfect. Smells great.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but the open room looks…the same as it did when you left this morning.

“Hey, Noct? Where’s all your stuff?”

He’s already sitting on the small couch, blowing in one of the cups of soup.

“Oh. I don’t really have much right now.”

Then it hits you—the trip, the Fall of Insomnia, ten years in the Crystal.

Noctis doesn’t have _anything_. He wasn’t even planning to survive this long.

The realization sits like a block on your chest.

“Oh. Oh, _shit_. I’m sorry.”

He pulls a spoon out of the plastic bag, and begins stirring. His face is that kind of practiced blank it gets when he’s trying not to think about something.

“It’s fine. It’s not like I have nothing.” He points to his left, between the end of the couch and the front wall, where a small box sits. “That’s stuff I found in the Armiger.”

You step over the dinner waiting for you in the bag, going to investigate. All it contains is clothes, folded neatly in the bottom, a tackle box and fishing rod, a red and gold notebook secured with a rubber band, and his ornamental gold brace.

Your heart aches.

“We’re probably gonna keep on storing all the magical, stabby stuff in the Crystal dimension, right?” you quip anyway.

Noct huffs a laugh. “Yeah. That’s probably safest.”

When you finally open your soup, it’s a pleasantly warm temperature. You’re drinking it straight from the plastic cup it came in when Noctis asks, “What do you have?”

Your things are in just three boxes by the door, stacked in a neat pyramid. You never thought there would come a day when you’d have more possessions than a literal King. Honestly, you never thought you’d have possessions, period. After all, how could an object own another object?

But there they are, secured with packing tape, filled with souvenirs from your brush with apocalypse. Setting your cup down, you walk over to pick one up and place it right at Noctis’s feet. You move your soup to the spot of floor near the corner of the couch and sit down right next to him.

There’s so much warmth that emanates from him. Ardyn’s touch was cold and rough and _mandatory_ , not like this. Noctis feels comfortable and _open_ , like you could pull him closer or push him away at any moment and he wouldn’t mind either way. Still, you keep some distance between you. There’ll be plenty of time for exploring that touch, those feelings, later tonight.

Instead, you summon a dagger from the Armiger, and cut through the tape on the box.

One by one, you pull out trinkets and treasures: shells from Cor, a chipped mug from Takka’s, bits of scrap metal, an almost empty container of lavender salve, a drawstring bag filled with magic gems. You pass each item to Noctis for him to inspect, telling stories about each one. He smiles appreciatively, and for the first time in the weeks since he came back, looks relaxed. Maybe your tendency to ramble is good for something.

“Oh, dude,” you say while he inspects a prototype bullet for your Starshells, “I don’t think you’ve seen the real ones yet. Maybe I should show you sometime, on the training field at the Glaive HQ. I guess they’re not gonna be that useful though, now that all the daemons are gone— _aaaah_ , be careful, these early ones were like flashbangs when they went off—“

It’s good. It’s proof of a life well spent, despite everything that happened in the last ten years. The contents of these boxes are symptoms of your autonomy.

“I missed so _much_ ,” Noctis says quietly, halfway through the last box. You think maybe he didn’t intend for you to hear it, but your rambling commentary trickles off anyway.

You can still feel his comforting body heat. Experimentally, you shuffle just a few inches closer to him.

“You’re here now,” you say. “You’re back. You won’t miss stuff from now on.”

His hair falls into his face, obscuring his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, as quiet as before.

You should do something with your hands. Isn’t that what people are supposed to do when their loved ones aren’t okay? You run down a list of the places open for you to touch, but the more you think about each one, the more your brain twists the urge into something potentially predatory. Closing your eyes and swallowing back bile, you settle an arm around his shoulders.

By some miracle, Noctis doesn’t jerk away, doesn’t look at you in fear, like you might. It takes him a beat, but soon he’s leaning into you, until his head falls on your shoulder.

He’s warm. He’s real. He’s solid, and he’s beside you.

“Hey, you know what?”

Noctis tilts his head at an awkward angle, trying to see you. “Hm?”

“We made it. We _made_ it, Noct.”

Noct doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead letting the words soak into him.

“We did it,” you continue. “We’re here. This is Lestallum, and we’re safe, and you’re alive, _Astrals_ , Ardyn’s dead, I’m free—“

“We made it,” he echoes. “We’re safe. We…found each other.”

“Yeah.” You smile in relief, letting your eyes flutter shut. “We did.”

 

 

“So. How do you want to do this?”

Noct is already on the bed, having claimed the side closest to the bathroom. He’s sitting against the pillows, but he’s not under the covers just yet. He’s waiting for your word.

You don’t know what to decide.

You think you’ve discovered that your apprehension about this isn’t a fear of getting hurt again—Noctis wouldn’t do that to you. But something as small as a brush against your side might ignite your bad memories, setting your body ablaze with the feeling of being hurt and helpless and so, so cold.

Down on your wrist, you pass a thumb over your barcode. It’s grounding, pulling you from that dangerous line of thinking.

Noctis seems to notice the nervous habit. “You know, I can sleep on the couch if you want. Just ‘till we’ve had more time to plan the sleeping arrangement.”

You snap your head up. “No! No, Noct, you don’t have to…”

“But I can. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable.”

Ugh. Having this much freedom in the context of another person is starting to get overwhelming.

“No. We’ll just…”

You trail off, but Noctis perks up, attentive.

“Let me get in bed. Okay?”

Nodding, he starts to get a little more comfortable, pulling the covers open for the both of you to climb into. You circle around to the opposite side of the bed, getting in. He doesn’t make a move to manhandle you down, or suffocate you with his arms.

Noctis simply waits.

The bed is…soft. The sheets are cozy and feel good on your skin, and by the looks of things, there’s enough to cover the both of you. That, too, used to be a problem with Ardyn.

You crawl under the blanket and top sheet, getting yourself snug and ready to sleep, while Noctis watches and still waits. You end up laying on your side, facing him.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah. Your turn.”

Noctis takes his time setting his pillows the right way, making sure his bad leg rests at a particular angle, pulling the covers as far up his shoulders as he can manage. In the end, he faces you too.

“This okay so far?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Feeling…”

It takes a moment for you to figure out how to finish the thought.

There’s been so many times that you’ve imagined this happening, using the fantasy of Noctis beside you to chase away Ardyn’s lingering touch. Now that he’s actually here—

“Feeling like I want to know for sure that it’s really you.”

Under the top sheet, something brushes against your hand. One of his.

“This okay?” he asks again.

You close your eyes, breathing deep the smell of the new place, of the freshly laundered bedclothes, of _Noctis_ , at your side and here to stay.

“It’s okay.”

Reaching out with your right hand, you take his, and don’t let go.


End file.
